


Don't Feed the Angels

by McMilkThistle



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Steampunk, Biopunk, Blood and Gore, Boy Soldiers, Child Labor, Child Soldiers, Dieselpunk, First Love, Heavy Angst, M/M, Opression, POV Child, Slow Burn, Steel Mills, Sweat shops, WIP, War Era, Wing Kink, Winged!Levi, angel!Levi, drafting, feeding the birds, i dont know how to tag this, idk exactly how to tag for this, neo-France, neo-Germany, tags will update with story, vague references to World War One
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-22
Updated: 2015-05-22
Packaged: 2018-03-31 17:56:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3987409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/McMilkThistle/pseuds/McMilkThistle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Its easier to appreciate food, when you have none. Easier to want for things, when you cant afford them. And its easier to believe in Angels when one appears right in front of you.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't Feed the Angels

Birds were always drawn into him, his hands like a beckoning cage. His eyes confident, and sure. The neighborhood birds couldn't help it, tripping over themselves, landing on his open arms. Allowing themselves to be drawn in. He sat on the landing atop his own personal island, among the sea of the roof tops of apartment buildings and factories, billowing black smoke into the air. A raven landed close to him, he tossed it some sesame seeds, and hopped closer. He held out his hand and it dropped a silver shard in his palm before hopping back to its meal.

The crows and ravens always did things like that. They would bring him gifts; pennies, pieces of broken bottles, scraps of parchment and pebbles. Or like today, a shard of a mirror.

He examined himself in the reflection, the scars that ran along his skin, soot staining his clothes and charcoal smeared on his face. He had a strong build, working in the mines, and inside the giant furnaces that heated the wealthy peoples bath water. But no amount of soot, and grime could blot out the strong dormant will in his eyes. It made them sharp, and focused.  
He was only fifteen but held himself like an adult. He worked, he paid bills, he fed himself and his family. He held his own when a fight would break out on the isles of the boiler room.

He stood, patting the dust from his pants, and slinging his jacket over his arm. The humid air was always so uncomfortable at this height for him to need it anyway. he left the wicker basket that held the rest of the food on the landing, allowing the rest of the birds to have at it.  
Inside the building, no sound carried through the thin walls. No footsteps sounded, everyone who was a legal adult was still at work. Recent labor laws passed gave kids like him a break, only allowing them to work for a certain amount of hours before they where turned away and sent home, only to be replaced by others filing in their hours, and pulling their weight. Erwin was grateful for it, but if he could have his way, he would sleep, eat and breathe work. because work meant money, he had a little sister counting on him, and poor mother who had been fired from the mills after the existence of her children was found out.  
'It was nothing personal' the over seer had said, 'just business, what would people think, really, a mother working? she should be home tending to her wee children.' his smiled. It was yellow, his teeth hosting a ball in every rotting cavity. Of course it was business, but what he didn't piece to together was that she had the job 'too' take care of them. Erwin shook off the clench in his jaw, realizing he had stopped right in the hallway, he kept himself moving. Now wasn't the time to get angry, now wasn't a time to get even. He needed to get inside, and make sure his family was okay, while he had his head in a furnace today, the air raid siren had begun screaming its head off. He had shot out of the mouth of the fire, slamming the door, and jogging along with a trail of fifty other boys, on their way to get to the basement. The enemy had dropped two small shells on his tiny world.

After his supervisor yelled "Clear!" and everyone clumsily scrambled out, and back to their machines. He had sacrificed a nickle to use the payphone outside. Thank God, his Mom had answered the phone from with in her home. She was okay, but she had called him, terrified because the bomb had gone off near his sister workplace.  
The cotton mills where only a long ways away from the mines, and even further away from the factory he was at now. She was fine, but as he turned the door knob he couldn't help but wonder if he would walk in and find a little black box on her bed. Wrapped in newspaper, and tied with a string. Carrying her belongings, the return address: the thread factory she walked to everyday.

He turned the brass knob, and a feeling fled through him like water through flood gates, extinguishing the small eclectic sting that had began, with relief.  
She ran toward him, limbs skinny bar feet caked in mud. her long blond hair tied behind her ears with a pink lace ribbon. Ripped from the hem of his mothers old dress. He hugged her and held her hand to the kitchen, his mother was making stew. She beamed, her back three teeth missing, and he remembers the day she came back from being fired, mouth swollen, and rent money in hand.  
She had sacrificed a permanent part of herself for them, to take care of them. He hugged her, his bulking frame rivaling her frail self.

She giggled, returning the gesture by placing a hand on his arm. "Go set the table, dinners almost ready." she swatted at him, and he ducked her wooden spoon. His sister carried over fistfuls of half dried silverware, aged by use.  
She dropped them on the table and he reached the top cupboard for plates. The domestic side of his life was serene and happy in a way he couldn't explain. Complaining about the thing they didn't have would be pointless, and he tried to balance all four plates, he placed them next to his mother, he scrubbed his hands in the sink, wetting the thick bar of soap. 

The grime crusted into the cracks in his dry hands washed away, and he pulled out a few splinters, despite his leather gloves the logs he threw under the water heater where unforgiving. He cleaned away the dark crescents beneath his nails, and returned to the table, pulling the chair out for his little sister who jumped up and swung her little legs. 

 

She drummed her delicate fingers against the table top. Squealing as their mother placed a plate in front of her. Giblet stew filled Potatoes, carrots and peas, all caught in a river of gravy, she jumped up and down in her seat, but she waited politely for his mother to serve everyone. He picked out a somewhat clean spoon, rubbing it on his sleeve to clean off some persistent filth. His mom took the seat next to head of the table, he looked all around smiling at his little family. His sister started digging in, painting her face with her food, barely holding her spoon properly. 

"Krista." His mother said, and his sister paused, spoon stretching her cheek. She looked like a chipmunk, oblivious. The table grew oddly quiet as they heard the sound.

thunk thunk thunk thunk

Erwin lowered his eyes, resentment pinching his heart inside his chest. He clenched his spoon in his hand. His father, no, that 'man' had aged like stale dried beef strips.His mother jumped to her tired feet, "Honey!" she chimed, a little hesitant, he paid her no mind. He limped in, supporting most his own weight on his walking stick. He had long messy hair, so unlike Erwin's own. Like it had once been a clean cut hair-do that had grown out, sprouting up like weeds from his head. A drab dull gray. His eyes tired, and hard in his sagging eye sockets. He hadn't shaved since Erwin was twelve. His the toes of his prosthetic leg drug on the floor behind him. He brought a sullen drumming where ever he went: drag, thunk. Drag, thunk. drag thunk.

It sicked him, and the bile rose in his throat as he dared to take the seat at the mast of the table. As if he deserved to call him self a leader, or a captain, or a man at the very least. 

Erwin let out a breath to calm himself, eating silently beside the man who he used to hug and greet at the door, just like his younger sister did to him now. His finished his stew, but tasted almost none of it. His father sat there, pathetically trying to get some one to pity him, as his hand shook, the gravy spilled over his mouth and his mother had to grab him a napkin. Erwin rinsed his dish and stalked off to his room. Not even sparing anyone else a glance. His father too said nothing, but watched him leave with a heavy gaze.

 

Erwin returned to the roof, by night fall the daytime smog had lifted some what, and the air felt cleaner. The factories that pumped diesel through their veins during the day had quieted their gears. Lights all around the city where dimmed. The street lamps below flickered with disinterest when they realized that no one was walking by. The only noise was the static coming from his small battery powered radio, that only played five stations. four of which where news.  
Erwin looked out over the rooftops, if he stood on his toes, he could see just barely to the deep crater in the distance. "forty dead, the shell didn't explode but it had landed on top of a small restaurant, crushing at least half that number instantly. Erwin couldn't fathom it, the war had still yet to hit him fully, divouging from reality, hearing them harp on about numbers, but never names. Forty people, forty families. Forty orphaned children, forty grieving mothers, forty starving pets, forty individual lives lost. He tried not to think about it.  
He dialed up the radio, laying back on the threadbare woolen blanket he had stashed up here for himself.

"Is this war almost at an end? We are awaiting news from General Favio, death rates of enemy soldiers skyrocketing, a surplus of food being shipped to our soldiers, the prohibition of non-soldiers consuming bread and wheat products have allowed our soldiers to flourish. We thank yo for your sacrifices, you're grieving will never be in vain, we will lay waste to our enemy, before they have the next chance to strike!" there was a collage of cheering, Erwin imagined those listening in hurdles at the bar, cheering along side them. Raising their fists to the sky. "could this war almost be over?"

 

Erwin woke up to screaming. The streets below where bustling, his head and mouth where to gummed up from sleep to realize what was going on. He crawled over to the side of the landing, peering over the lip of railing. Sidewalks where closed off, people jammed in like sardines, waving little black and white flags. Every grime caked worker, rubbing elbows with each other, women and children among them screaming and crying, husbands carrying their youngest on their shoulders. All pushing to the front to see the trolleys of parades. Horses strapped with ribbons and braids, prancing around. Their jet black coats shimmering, confetti rained down into the streets, and the people sang. Even the socialites, and then rich who holed up in their fancy windows, peering down at everyone through their mounted specs cheered. Children and Adults, peasant and royal, prince and thief alike, cheered in unison. Spinning noise makers, and raising triumphant two fingers in the air.

War generals rode in on horse back, the Fuhrer in a top down car. He waved but didn't smile, his mouth moved but no sound came out. His polished boots, shone like the coats of the horses. His gloved hand patted the driver's shoulder, and his guard tacked on the rear. Their guns firing off victory rounds, spooking their horses, and making them canter about, trying to buck off their riders.

It was all in good fun, and the adolescent in sill left in Erwin ran down the stairwells to his family, waking them as if it where Christmas. They dressed in their Sunday best, and he even wore a bow tie, and greased back his hair. His sister buckled on her shiny black Mary Jane's, and they two sparkled like the Fuhrers boots, and the show ponies.

His family spilled out into the street, as he took his sisters small hand in his and paraded her around in the fair. Candy bars lined up on shelves, and a crowd gathered around a strange machine that cleaned, and cut and crushed, and filled and baked and cooled all at once. Procuring every type of pie imaginable. People practically threw their money at the tender's feet fro just a taste of one. he caught his sister's eyes,as she watched the assembly of a blueberry pie. He searched his pockets for a dollar, and with the last of his pocket money, bought her the entire pie. It had been precisely a year and a half since they last had anything so extravagant. He had been saving for a year and a half, and in between rent and groceries had managed twelve dollars.

She squealed and danced, and they ate the pie with their fingers, as they played games on the square. They found candy floss vender's, and a machine that spat out roasted nuts for a quarter. There was music playing in the street, and they followed the sound of an announcers voice. The stage was dressed for the occasion. Bright bows, and streamers, aside from the tents around it, there seemed to be only the one. The announcer cocked his hat, and spoke feverishly into his micro phone. Erwin and Christa watched wide eyed, as he spoke of a new kind of soldier, one that felt no pain, one that could forever replace the common man, in battle. One that would spare the lives of countless peoples, he pulled a string and a poster unfurled behind him.  
It was labeled as "The Brass Man" and soldier made up of brass and wires. With steam trailing from its mouth, its joints where gears, and its brand of their flag across its shoulder would fall apon enemies hearts, like loaded shells apon their heads.

The announcer raped his cane against the giant box off to the right of center stage and the box split down the seams. Its cogs whirred to life as it lifted its head. The crowds eyes where saucers, and the robot saluted. It marched around the stage, and from the left entered an array of perfection. Their minds blank but their form mechanical and flawless. The carried rifles on their arms, and for a second Erwin believed they where people inside those brass men. Wearing them like suits, clothing themselves in metal.

the lined up straight, gaze blindly looking forward. But to Erwin they looked like hope.

After the crowd recited the anthem,they dispersed. Erwin felt his chest swell with a second hand pride he couldn't quite place.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and Kudos are always appreciated! <3


End file.
